Because It Works
by Elizabeth Turner
Summary: One-shot. PWP. Slight AU. Ginny and Sirius have been engaging in an illicit affair. It started one night in the kitchen. GINNY IS UNDERAGE IN THIS FIC. IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, DON'T READ IT. Otherwise, have a great time.


Because it works

Because it works. This works. We work. Because at a time like this, the only person thinking with the appendage between their legs is Sirius and the only person coherent enough to appreciate that fact is me. No one would understand, that's why we keep this silent. Not because we have anything to hide, but because we wouldn't want to cause the other cretins in the house anymore mental anguish than is necessary. Alright, so maybe the age difference, particularly the fact that I am underage, gave us a little something to hide. Still, a little excitement is good for a person.

The first time I saw him, I was frightened. He was disheveled, dirty and lamentably thin. I'd spent that entire summer hiding from him. I'd gone away to Hogwarts and, as if it was nothing, came back the next summer to expect the same thing. He'd learned to bathe, shave and comb his hair. Three square meals a day with The Order footing the bill seemed to be doing his figure a bit of good, as well. He'd regained some of the lost color in his cheeks, although spending his days locked inside did take its toll on his tan. The summer after, he looked even better.

He had found an old coat of his, which he wore quite frequently. It was lined with fur, hanging open from the nape of his neck to his hips. Apparently, a shirt was not necessary when wearing it. His torso was decorated with intricate tattoos, the coat giving me only the faintest idea of what the full picture looked like.

Needless to say, I was intrigued.

Mom kept a strict 'early to bed, early to rise' regimen for the inhabitants of Number12 Grimmauld Place, so it was easy to understand Sirius' expression of surprise when I found him in the kitchen at 2 in the morning.

"Little Weasley, what are you doing out of bed?" He slurred, raising an eyebrow at me.

I pulled my robe a bit closer to me and shrugged. "Dunno. Couldn't sleep." I walked over to the table, hoisting the bottle of firewhiskey from his grasp, adding, "and I'm not little."

His inhibitions obviously to the wind as a result of the consumption of mass quantities of alcohol, he dragged his gaze once over my body and sighed. "No," he said, rubbing his hand tiredly over his eyes, "I suppose you're not."

I sat myself down at the table a chair away from him. "Are you feeling alright?"

He pounded his fist against the table and shouted, "MERLIN! I'm fine! Why won't anyone believe that I'm alright?"

"Maybe because you just came back from behind the veil! I saw you fall in! We all thought you were gone! How were we supposed to react to finding you asleep in your bed when we came here this summer?" My tone softened. "We're just worried."

He made a sloppy attempt to take the bottle back from me, failed and then chuckled. "If we continue all this shouting, Molly will have both our heads." He let his head fall to the table and sighed. "I think I'm trapped here, Gin."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I've tried going outside, just stepping out the door and I can't. I think this is supposed to be my afterlife. My Hell."

I scoffed, "Come on now, Sirius. This place isn't so bad…"

"I died. I was hit with the killing curse." He said plainly. "I should be dead. Maybe I am. Somedays I don't even think I have a pulse."

I looked at his form, slumped over the table in front of me and ran my fingers shallowly through his hair. "Can you feel that?"

He nodded slowly, taking my hand in his before I could remove it fully. "Can you feel this?" He asked, rubbing my fingers gently.

I swallowed uncomfortably. "Yes."

He sat up slowly, his eyes still closed. "Oh Gin," he whimpered, moving one seat closer to me, hand still over mine, "you're the first person to touch me, I mean _really_ touch me, since I got back." He shifted my hand so that both our palms were facing up and gently touched it to his face. He leaned into the touch, eyes still closed. "Gods, you're warm." He said, quietly.

All the while I sat in shock. He was touching me, or was I touching him? It felt so utterly sexual, my hand to his cheek. I didn't understand. I was barely sixteen. I didn't understand in the slightest, but I liked it. I thought that I was perhaps reading too much into it. Perhaps what I thought to be sexual was just an innocent touch. He was lonely, after all. No one seemed to pay much attention to him. Perhaps he just needed a friend to console him in this, his drunken hour.

Still relishing in the feel of my hand against his cheek, he opened his eyes slowly. When they met mine, he dropped my hand with a sigh, a look of shame washing over his face. "I'm sorry." He stammered. "I don't know what I'm doing; I'm much too drunk at the moment."

I gave him a gentle smile. "It's alright." I said, "I'm glad you could open up a bit. It sounds like you've needed someone to talk to for a while."

He chuckled quietly, "Yeah. I guess I have." He put his hand over mine softly. "Thanks."

I just smiled at him. However, he quickly reached past me and snatched the bottle of firewhiskey from my inattentive grasp.

"Haha!" He announced triumphantly, rising from the table.

As he proceeded to raise the bottle to his lips, he glanced at me. I knew he was goading me on, trying to get me to chase him. When he realized that I was not going to get up, he sighed dejectedly, placed the cap back over the top and set the bottle in front of me.

"I shouldn't have anymore anyway…" He said sadly.

"This is true," I said, removing the cap for myself, "but I have not had any tonight."

"Because you're far too young!" He said matter-of-factly.

I stood and walked closer to him, bottle in hand and said dangerously, "I thought we went over this. I am neither little nor young. I can handle myself." I took a swig from the bottle, swallowed and immediately regretted it. My throat felt like it was on fire. I let out a series of small coughs before managed to wheeze, "See?"

"You can barely handle a shot!" He managed to say in between fits of laughter. "My dear Gin," he slurred, "while you are not young and not little, you are more than half my age and a good deal shorter than I." He said while slinging an arm over my shoulders. "How am I supposed to address you if I am forbidden to state the obvious?"

I glared at him. "Mr. Black, _sir_, if you are to call me an underage midget than I shall call you an improperly dressed drunkard."

He smiled at me sweetly. "A rose by any other name, my dear…"

I raised an eyebrow at him, crossing my arms over my chest, forcing my robe to come undone. I saw him furtively glance down at what was just revealed then quickly bring his eyes back up to my face. I did the same, glancing down at his nearly bare chest, then back up to his face. The intention was to do so in a mocking fashion, but I fear I might have spent far too much time gawking at his toned abdomen than was necessary.

He removed his arm from my shoulders and rubbed his eyes again. "You really are far too young." He said under his breathe, turning away from me.

"Maybe you're too old." I said defiantly. Although after the words escaped my lips I wondered how that helped my side of the argument.

"That's my point." He said, facing me again.

"What do you mean?" I asked inquisitively.

"I mean," he let out a sigh, "I mean it's half past two. You should be in bed, not down here, half naked, drinking with a man more than twice your age."

I blushed. "I happen to think I have a fair amount of clothing on at the moment, thank you."

"Apparently you also think you're 21 and six feet tall." He said jokingly. "But the both of us know that neither of those is true."

I shrugged off my robe, revealing my short, white slip. I never thought it was very revealing until then, standing in front of him, hands of my hips, begging my cheeks not to burn with embarrassment. It was true, I thought. I wasn't very clothed. The slip had two thin straps which lead to a slight lace embellishment just atop my chest. The rest was thin white cotton, which was not too free yet not too tight. It ended mid thigh with just enough lace at bottom to prevent it from being too suggestive.

He put his head in his hands and let out a struggled groan. "You have no idea what you're doing right now, Gin."

I flushed bright red. I picked up my robe and put it loosely back on. "I-I'm sorry." I stammered. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted to prove to you that I was not half naked." I added quietly, "I guess I proved myself wrong."

When he removed his head from his hands, he caught me staring intently at his chest. I longed desperately to see what else was hidden underneath that jacket. I was taken out of my pseudo-trance when he spoke. "What?" He asked.

"Oh, nothing." I said.

"Do I have something on me?" He asked puzzled, moving toward me.

I blushed bright red. "No… yes, but-no. Nothing bad."

He chuckled, lifting his jacket away from himself a bit and peering at his own chest. "Come on, Gin. Don't make fun of me."

"I'm not!" I said. "It's just…you're tattoos." Embarrassed, I peered at the floor.

"Do you want to see?" He whispered.

I looked back up at him. He really did seem ten feet tall. Perhaps I was too short. I nodded my head and slipped a hand underneath his the front of his coat.

His skin felt even and smooth. There was no texture difference between the marked and unmarked spaces of his chest. I gazed intently at the different designs running from his collarbone in a straight line down his torso. I traced each one with my finger, smiling a bit to myself. They were beautiful.

I paused for a moment and looked up at him. His head was hanging back, eyes closed and mouth agape. His breathing was ragged, shoulders slowly moving up and quickly shuddering back down.

I moved my hands from his chest to his shoulders, peeling off his jacket as I ran my hands down his arms. The sound of the soft leather hitting the floor must have jostled him, as he quickly looked down at me. His eyes searched mine questioningly, trying to find the motive behind my action.

He rested his hands on my shoulders complacently, hung his head down and sighed. I moved forward a step and placed my head on his chest. I could hear his heartbeat.

"I like them." I said softly.

With deft hands, he moved his fingers just underneath the collar of my robe, peeling it away just as I had done with his coat. His hands moved up and down my arms slowly a few times. He let out a short, heavy breathe as he wrapped his arms around me, drawing me even closer to him. I let my arms find their way around him, holding him tight.

"I haven't known the touch of a woman since before Azkaban." He said breathlessly. Running his hands up and down my back he added, "But you're not yet a woman."

I pulled away from him, looking his straight in the eyes and said, "Then make me one."

He had lost. He reached forward, grabbed my arms and with a low growl captured my lips. I had kissed several boys before this, but nothing even compared. His kisses were like firewhiskey, hot and suffocating. But this was the most beautiful asphyxiation I'd ever known.

His hands roamed down my back, finding a place to rest themselves and pulling me into his hips. He broke away from the kiss to let out another moan before forcing my head back and ravaging my neck. His fingers slipped under the hem of my dress, kissing slowly down my neck as he brought his hands up and with them, my slip. After passing it over my head, he wasted no time in laying me to the floor.

The tile was refreshingly cold against my bare back. He got to his knees soon after, toying impatiently with his zipper. When he finally got it undone, he knelt on either side of me and began to kiss me again. Resting on one arm, he kicked off his jeans whilst playing with my breast.

I moaned into his mouth, bucking my hips to match his and realized we were both just a thin layer of cotton away from something huge, and I was not referring to the appendage between Sirius' legs.

He slipped two fingers under the waistline of my panties and slid them down my thighs. He tried to remove them with out disconnecting our lips, but to no avail. Frustrated and impatient, he ripped the side and pushed his two fingers inside me.

I gasped in surprise. He urged them in and out a few times before kissed down my jaw and to my ear. Nipping at my skin he whispered, "Gods Gin, you're too much."

I shuddered and let out a sigh, followed by his name. Hearing his own name took him over the edge, forcing his boxers hurriedly down his legs. He hoisted my leg over his shoulder and pressed forward.

I moaned in pain, he in pleasure. He started slow, rocking in and out to a constant rhythm. "Beautiful Gin." He whispered, head in the crook of my neck. Nipping at my skin as he began to move faster, he whispered, "Wonderful Gin." Ever faster, he said in time, "Lovely Gin. Amazing, incredible Gin." I tried to match his pace but he had begun to move to fast. "Burning, wet, hot Gin." His whispers grew in intensity as did his thrusts. "Young, virile, tight Gin." Finally, as he was about to climax he whispered, "My Gin." Over and over again until he had reached his peak he continued to whisper, "My Gin. My Gin." Shuddering into his release, he finally whispered. "Mine."

And there we lay, naked on the kitchen floor, my head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped protectively around me. I suppose I had drifted off to sleep soon after because I awoke in a strange bed. His bed. Although not in his arms. He was sitting on the opposite side of the room, kneeling in a corner with no shirt on, gazing intently at me.

I stretched as I opened my eyes, finding him that way. I moved over on the bed slightly, patting the side closest to him as if beckoning him to come join me. He sat on top of the sheets, looking down at me with a contented smile. "You're right, Gin." He said. "You're not a little girl." He tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear before leaning down to kiss me.

"Then what am I?" I asked with a smile.

"Mine." He growled possessively, as he leaned down for another kiss.

A/N: I like this. I mean, I really like this. I've never written a PWP before, but I like this.

I didn't want the sex to be romantic, ya know? I don't really like it when the man has to ask "oh is this okay? Are you sure?" ten million times. If he's horny and you're there, it would just kind of happen. But the ending is cute. With a hint of darkness. It's like dark fluff. Like black cotton… or something, I don't know. Hope you enjoyed it!


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